


The Measure of a King

by Xela



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-02 08:42:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xela/pseuds/Xela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d signed and announced the Warrant of Appointment three days ago.  Nick was officially Portland’s Hochmeister, a sovereign military asset operating under the auspices of the Crown.  He just didn't know it.</p><p>And then a rogue Grimm rolled into town to challenge Nick for his place.  Renard won't let that stand, but Nick's natural curiosity was making it very hard to keep him safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“That will be enough, Adalind.”

“He got another visit from some sightseeing eisbiber. And a reinigen followed him into a diner to get away from a Nachtkrapp two days ago.” Renard didn’t deign to comment. “Will we be telling Nick about his position in the Court before he kills someone or after?”

“Adalind.” He put enough power in his voice to shut her up. Renard steepled his fingers and closed his eyes. He’d signed and announced the Warrant of Appointment three days ago. Nick was officially Portland’s Hochmeister, a sovereign military asset operating under the auspices of the Crown. Which was technically true—Nick followed Renard’s orders, took the cases Renard gave him, and exercised restraint in his Grimm duties (though that was more Nick than anything Renard could claim). He did Captain Renard's bidding, which aligned with King Renard's bidding, so it all amounted to the same thing.

Adalind was still staring a hole in his skull. Probably because, structurally speaking, this made Nick Renard’s regent should he be incapacitated (and, possibly, heir if Nick accumulated enough power and influence to keep the throne himself). Nick was...pretty much the only one who didn’t know he now ranked second to Renard himself in the Creature hierarchy. 

With any luck, it would stay that way until Renard felt Nick was ready.

 _And if you never think he’s ready?_ There were times when his voice of reason sounded so like Adalind he suspected her of having psychic powers.

Regardless, it was most likely moot. At some point, Nick would be drawn into the politics of Court life. But Renard still had time enough before that happened to figure out the best way to ease Nick into the transition.

“We need to discuss next week’s Königshof. From what I understand the otterkin and eisbiber are fighting over a stretch of the Lower Willamette River at the moment and we can expect to hear Petitions and Grievances from both sides." Adalind nodded and made a note. "Find me a solution; I do _not_ want this ending in a Challenge.”

***

Dawn was threatening when the Königshof started winding down. The bi-monthly King’s Court to hear Petitions, Grievances, and issue Challenges lasted a day and a night and Renard hated them.

The anticipated eisbiber/otterkin showdown had taken up the better part of the Court’s time, and had ended up being a Romeo and Juliet kind of story. The Holt leader’s daughter was in love with the leader of the beaver Colony’s grandson, a fact that pleased neither Alpha. Renard found the whole mess ridiculous as there was no real threat to either group, and felt the two alphas should be happy their teenage children were at no risk coming home pregnant. Also, fighting over riverland in _Portland_ was kind of like arguing ownership of a single grain of sand at the beach.

Renard was absurdly grateful when Adalind signaled the end of the Königshof.

“If it pleases the Court,” someone called, “I have a matter for the King.”

“Step forward and be Recognized,” Adalind ordered when no one presented themselves in front of Renard’s throne. A lull of quiet and then a surge of movement as various Creatures trampled one another to get away from...a Grimm. Adalind shifted and the rest of his honor guard stepped forward, flanking Renard protectively. He saw several of his subject slink away into the trees but he didn’t call them back for breaching Protocol; he could hardly blame them.

“Identify yourself,” Renard said, his voice just above a growl. He felt the itch of his true self just below the surface.

“Lara Dietrich.” A ripple of discomfit went through the assembled—Renard could smell their fear. Lara Dietrich was a step below Marie Kessler, and a known associate and former protégé.

“What are you doing in my lands, Grimm?”

“I heard you appointed a sovereign Grimm. Very old school. I’m...intrigued.” She made a show of glancing around, making note of the assembled wesen. “And where is he? I’d like to compare scars. See what he’s made of.”

“I find it prudent to deal with these matters personally in case he finds himself involved with them later. Wouldn’t want him unduly prejudiced.” Her grin was a razor.

“I’ll have you know I’m very impartial. No matter what.” Renard smiled coolly. At least he knew why she was here, though Lara Dietrich did not strike him as a Grimm who wanted to be tied to a Throne. She also wasn’t a Grimm he’d trust with his life or his people. Certainly not equal to _Nick._

“Your services are not needed here.”

“But you haven’t even seen my résumé.”

“Your reputation precedes you.”

“Funny. So does your catch-and-release Grimm’s. What’s his name?” She grinned at Renard seductively. “Slick? Dick? Pr—” Renard did growl at that, a low warning sound that made his guards twitch. He saw the Grimm’s eyes light up with triumph.

“Get out.” Renard stood, the dais giving him a height advantage and making him look imposing. “You are not welcome. You will not remain on my lands any longer.”

“Ah, well. Can’t win them all.” She drew a small, bejeweled knife from a sheath at her side. Though it looked primarily decorative, Renard—and, he noted with approval, his hexenbeist—were on guard. Dietrich grinned at him, showing too many teeth, and sliced into her forearm. “I do so Challenge your Grimm for his Position by Totenkopf Anfechten.”

“No,” Renard said, feeling his control waver. This Grimm had just dared challenge Nick for his position by a fight to the death, sealed with blood; the last such Challenge had been over 17 years ago and had been nothing short of disastrous. Well. She would have to go through Renard first.

“So sorry,” Dietrich said, flicking her blood on the ground. “Legitimate Challenges issued during the Königshof cannot be revoked and must be resolved. Or are you going to break with Protocol, your Majesty?” If he refused, he would forfeit his crown.

Renard bared his teeth, now longer and sharpened. The world took on a gold-red hue as the change overtook him.

“No. But I accept as Nick Burkhardt’s King and Champion.”

He launched himself at Dietrich, toppling the throne backwards, and the Court erupted into chaos. He swiped at the Grimm with his claws but she was fast. Fast, and good, and he was right about that fucking knife. It burned when it cut, opening wounds that didn’t heal immediately.

He saw her reach behind her back for another weapon and caught her with a surprise left hook to the jaw, but she was far too experienced to lose her footing. She used the momentum to roll along the ground and draw a second knife out of her boot, a wicked looking hunting knife with a razor-sharp hook at the end. She grinned at him, bloodlust in her eyes, and attacked.

Renard met her head-on, skin hardening into an armament of interlocking scales, senses heightening, claws fully extended. He had a little range on her, but she was fast on her feet and her knives cut. His talons cut deeper, curved and razor sharp. She was good, but he was _Regnant._

He landed a good swipe to her upper chest, tearing through her shirt and what felt like light leather armor before finding skin and drawing blood. But it left his arm vulnerable and she got him with both knives. The smaller, more delicate one she simply stabbed as deep into the muscle as she could, then twisted the handle so the blade broke off inside his arm; the other left a long bloody gash in its wake, all the way to his wrist.

He reared up and roared, loud enough that the Grimm stumbled back from the sound. Right into a conveniently placed spear that stabbed her through the calf. She went down on one knee with a grunt and Renard could practically taste his victory. He was mid-leap when the bullets from a tiny derringer caught Renard full in the chest, interrupting his momentum. Bitch must have had a sleeve rig. They burned and incapacitated him, but were far from deadly.

The Grimm ran. His subject parted like water before her, and his honor guard moved quickly to surround him. Too few, too ceremonial to go after the Grimm; he’d gotten complacent. He staggered but kept his feet. Adalind stepped up beside him, radiating calm. 

“So this has to come out,” she said, touching the reddened skin around the silver blade buried in his arm. He could see his veins turning dark with its poison and agreed. He also knew he would have to bear it with barely a sound or a flinch. He was a young King trying to rule a young Territory. A rich territory, come to that, but wild. One that others before him—some far older and more powerful—had fought and lost. He was still learning his lands, bringing his people to heel, and any sign of weakness could be his undoing.

“Do it,” he ordered, widening his stance and bracing himself. Adalind pulled the blade out of his arm with ruthless efficiency. He grunted once when she used her claws to widen the wound but otherwise remained stoic. Finished, she squeezed his arm once in encouragement and stepped back.

“Interfering in a Challenge is a high treasonous offense,” he murmured, trying to make his slow walk to the waiting car look like reassuring nonchalance and not the necessity it was. Breathing hurt. He felt Adalind shrug beside him.

“I should probably be more careful where I put my spears, then,” she said. Renard chuckled, and it pulled at the slow-healing bullet wounds in his chest. The Grimm had probably cursed the bullets like she had her knife. 

He focused on healing until the car slid to a stop in front of his manse. He kept up the pretense of strength and good health until they passed through the door because wesen eyes were everywhere. But as soon as the door closed Adalind and her second, Sera, slid under his arms and started carrying him towards the guest-cum-unofficial trauma room without asking.

Sera rolled a set of surgical instruments to the bedside and Renard shuddered. This would take time he didn’t have.

“Get me Rabe, Hoffman and Burkhardt’s blutbad. Now.” It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took liberties as I am not a German speaker and also: Grimm.
> 
> Dietrich - means 'people's ruler' in Old German  
> eisbiber - Beaver, they live in colonies  
> reinigen - Rat  
> Nachtkrapp - a mythical bugbear creature, literally means 'Night Crow'  
> Otterkin - Otters, they live in Holts  
> Hochmeister - Grand Master, the formal and executive head of a military and feudal pyramid, which can be considered a 'state within the state;' basically, Nick as a Grimm is his own, soverign person, but he's allied with the Crown.  
> Königshof - King's Court  
> Totenkopf Anfechten - The 'totenkopf' is the skull and crossbones (literally means skull). Anfechten means to contest/dispute/defend. No, this is not a Pirate's Dispute, smartasses. That's a different fic entirely.


	2. Chapter 2

The wounds on his chest were bruised and tender. Every movement pulled meanly at them. He’d have limited range of motion for a few days. He also had a couple of dark, angry bruises on his face that would have to be hidden by make up. Adalind was smearing concealer over his jaw in preparation for his meeting.

“We’ve already set up a rotating guard on the girlfriend and secured the blutbad’s territory. It’s going to take work to keep Nick in the dark but we can manage. The wesen are already talking, but details are muddled and the rumors are spiraling out of control.”

“And me?” This was the first public test of his authority. It could very well destroy his ability to keep the throne.

“All of the stories make you out to be a badass. Sir.” Well, that was one positive. But of diminishing returns as the longer the Grimm was free to terrorize his people, the more influence he lost. Adalind put the finishing touches on his face and tilted his head back and forth contemplatively. “Alright. You’re ready for your close up.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

***

Monroe hovered nervously in a sitting room _inside_ the King’s manse. He’d never been Summoned before, hadn’t even attended a Königshof after the first few where he’d petitioned for residence. So to say this was freaking him out was putting it mildly.

The door opened and Monroe straightened, but it was just a hexenbiest escorting a well-dressed man into the room. Not a man, a jägerbar. They studied each other for a silent, tense minute before the bear inclined his head and chose a seat on the other side of the room.

A different door opened and admitted a mauzhertz, who took one look at the two of them and froze comically.

“Reformed,” Monroe offered with a friendly wave.

“Non-traditional,” the bear rumbled, sounding bored. The mouse squeaked and pressed up against the wall, eyes darting from the two of them. Monroe sighed; honestly, no one gave him any credit.

He heard the door open, again, and rolled his head against the chair to see who was being added to their menagerie.

The King. 

Monroe scrambled to his feet and ignored the urge to bare his neck and belly. The jägerbar and the mauzhertz, who’d moved so they were all standing in a line in front of his Majesty, didn’t look like they’re doing much better. The King eyed them each in turn, ending with Monroe, who felt he was facing far more scrutiny than the others, which was just downright unfair. He hadn’t eaten anyone in _years_ and he was almost positive the jägerbar was the same one whose mate and cub almost _ate two people_ in a roh-hatz not long ago.

“Monroe, yes?”

“Yes.” The bear elbowed him “Y-your Majesty.” The King made a noncommittal humming noise that Monroe could not, for the life of him, read anything into. And he was _trying._

“There’s a rogue Grimm in Portland,” The King said. Monroe froze in horror. Was that why he was here? Because of his association with Nick? Because he could get close to Nick, closer than almost anyone, and was in the perfect position to, to betray him? Was Monroe about to choose between Nick and a Regnant?

“I thought Detective Burkhardt had the favor of the Crown, your Majesty,” the jägerbar said. Very smooth. Also—what? Since when?

“It’s not Burkhardt.” Monroe felt light headed with relief. “Though he is certainly why the three of you are here. The rogue Grimm issued a Totenkopf Anfechten for Nick’s place in the Court.”

...Nick had a place in the King’s Court? One that someone was willing to kill for? Monroe was going to have to get back in the political grapevine if that were the case. But if he didn’t know about this, that meant Nick definitely didn’t know. Which raised so many questions Monroe didn’t know where to start. And now another crazy Grimm was going to come after him and baby Grimm Nick was going to die—

“I have accepted the Challenge in his place, but that does not mean Burkhardt isn’t a target." Monroe gaped. _The King_ accepted a fight _to the death?_ For Nick? Monroe didn't have to be well schooled in courtly etiquette to know that just wasn't done.

"Dr. Hoffman.” The mauzhertz straightened, nose twitching, and clearly three seconds from running away. “You work with Juliette Silverton, who is of potential interest to this rogue Grimm. A slim probability, but not one we can ignore. You will notice an increase of militarized wesen around your practice; they are a protection detail, but you will be the last line of defense. For obvious reasons, she is ignorant of this life, so it’s up to you to make sure it remains that way. I expect you to do everything in your power to ensure Dr. Silverton emerges as unscathed and undisturbed as possible. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Dr. Hoffman squeaked, looking a little freaked out. Monroe totally understood. “I-I will serve with honor.”

“Good. There is a hexenbiest outside; she will teach you how to handle a firearm and some of our basic security protocols. Thank you, your service will not be forgotten.” Monroe watched the mouse leave with envy.

“Mr. Rabe.” The bear bowed and kept silent. “I’ve been told that since your family’s little mishap, you’ve become quite involved with Portland’s Creature Council.”

“I have, your majesty.” The bear seemed calmed and collected, even to the wolf’s senses. Monroe hated him. (Just a little. Not enough to want to eat him.)

“Good. You’ve just been promoted to Herald of the Crown and liaison to the Small Council. You’ll be given a file on Grimm Lara Dietrich when you leave. Use and disseminate the information as you see fit with my full support. Make sure my people can protect themselves. The Crown will offer whatever aide we can.”

“And what of Detective Burkhardt’s protection?”

“Why are you interested, Mr. Rabe?” There was an edge to the question that made Monroe want to slink away. He _saw_ the jägerbar’s fur stand up. He was pretty sure if a fight broke out the Regnant would win, but Rabe would do some damage first and Monroe might get caught in the crossfire. And Monroe couldn’t be sure, be he thought he smelt blood on the Regnant.

“He didn’t shoot my kid.” Monroe’s attention darted back and forth between his King and the bear.

The King deliberately broke eye contact and straightened his shirt, the tension between them relaxing.

“I will consider any petition the Council puts before me.” A long moment later, the bear calmed, his human mask sliding into place.

“I serve with honor,” Rabe said, and bowed.

“Thank you for your service.”

The jägerbar left. Which meant Monroe was alone. With the King. Who was staring at him like dinner.

“I, uh. Don’t know much about...royalty...things.” It had felt like the mouse and the bear were both following some script Monroe hadn’t read. He knew the basics of how Courts worked, but not a lot. Not enough.

“I’m shocked.” Monroe paused.

“Okay, I can recognize sarcasm.” The King raised an eyebrow and continued staring at Monroe. “You know Nick and Juliette aren’t, um, anymore. With the...” he trailed off, waving his hand in the air expressively.

“Nick does not strike me as the kind of person who stops caring for someone just because he’s no longer romantically involved with them.”

“Oh, so you’ve actually met Nick.” Jesus Christ, and he was always complaining about _Nick’s_ lack of self-preservation. “Right. Of course you have, you wouldn’t realize he’s all Glenda the Good Grimm if you hadn’t. Makes total sense. Is there a reason I’m here?”

“I want to hire you.”

“You...you want to talk about clocks? Now? Geez, dude, I mean sure, but aren't there more important things—”

“As a bodyguard. For Nick Burkhardt.”

“I do that for free,” Monroe felt inclined to point out. He got the distinct impression he was trying his King’s patience. “Which you are now offering to...pay me for?”

The King simply stared at him and Monroe swallowed.

“...cool. You’re not going to kill me if I fail, are you?”

“If you fail, it will be because Lara Dietrich got to him.”

“Ah. Right. And I’ll be dead. What about when Nick does something irresponsible and stupid?”

“What, exactly, do you do now?” Monroe sighed.

“Yeah, I was afraid of that.” At least now he could blame his stupid suicidal tendencies on a royal decree.

“But do try and keep Nick in the dark about this. He’ll find enough trouble as it is, we don’t need to draw him a map, and he can be...stubborn.” Monroe snorted. “I’ll take care of him during his working hours. You need to find a reason to stick close to him during the nights and evenings.”

“Oh sure, that’ll be easy. We can go to the movies and have sleepover and braid our hair. I’ve seen this in the movies before, we start dating—” Without warning Monroe found himself pinned to the wall, the King wearing his Regnant face, fangs inches from Monroe’s jugular.

“I would suggest you treat this more seriously, blutbad. I have suffered your bad manners but do not push me.” Monroe couldn’t even swallow, much less speak, so he held perfectly still, radiating as much submissiveness as he could. Eventually, the King’s grip relaxed enough for him to breathe and his inner monologue spilled out in a hurried rush.

“No. No, yeah, of course, I’m serious. Totally serious. I don’t think you understand how serious I think it is.” Monroe screwed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and prepared for death. “Are you bleeding?” Well if he was going to die anyways...

The King let him go and stepped away, both his hands clasped behind his back. His human mask was there as if he’d never dropped it.

“Get out.” Monroe did not have to be told twice.


	3. Chapter 3

Renard rubbed the sore space between his eyes where one hell of a tension headache was threatening to take root. He had four case files spread out in front of him (and one unreported incident hidden in his briefcase), brutal murders that were more about pain and suffering than death. Death was incidental; almost merciful.

They were messages, every one of them. Messages, and tiny cracks in his base of power. In his subjects’ faith in him. Renard stared at them and felt his eyes start to burn.

“Hey.” Renard glanced up at his visitor, surprised to see Nick leaning in his doorway. He was usually acutely aware of his people, particularly Nick. He needed sleep. And for that damned Grimm to be dead.

Renard tossed his pen on the table and leaned back in his chair.

“Detective. What can I do for you?” Nick started to speak, paused, visibly reassessed and then fixed Renard with a searching look. Renard struggled not to give any outward appearance of his alarm. Beyond his Grimm skills, Nick was a very good cop with a keen eye for detail. He’d pick up on anything out of place and Renard was always very careful to keep anything incriminating off his person.

“Are you okay?” Nick finally asked. Renard took his time to study Nick, who stilled under his scrutiny. The pretense gave him the time to order his thoughts (and look at Nick).

“Why do you ask?” A very undignified part of him was pointing out, over and over, that Nick was worried. That Nick _cared._ The rational part pointed out that Nick cared about _everyone._

“You’ve been favoring your left arm and you flinched when you brushed up against one of the file cabinets. You move like your ribs hurt; I’m also pretty sure you’ve got a nice one on your chin, but someone’s done an excellent make up job.” Nick could be a terrible inconvenience at times. Renard let an easy, slightly rueful smile appear on his face.

“I helped Evander and Leslie take down a perp yesterday. I like to remind myself why I spent so much money on this desk from time to time.” Silence lingered and stretched between them. “Was there anything else...?”

“No, sir.” Renard got the feeling Nick wasn’t completely sold on his explanation.

Then the murder of a lausenschlange Renard knew was called in and Nick had to go. Renard barely refrained from destroying everything on his desk.

***

Nick ducked out of the crime scene and took a minute to compose himself. This was the fifth gruesome, overly vicious murder they’d caught in a week and a half. A single father of three boys vivisected on his living room floor. Face frozen in a rictus of pain. 

None of the murders shared enough commonalities for the police or profilers to call serial killer, but there was something about them that told Nick they were related.

“Hey man, you okay?”

“Yeah, Hank. I’m fine.” He shook of his stupor. He wasn’t a rookie anymore. “Crime scene techs done yet?”

“Just finishing up. You talked to the witness?” Nick pulled out his notebook and flipped through it.

“Lara Keiber?”

“Sounds right.” He glanced at the ambulance where a woman was huddled under a trauma blanket, staring at the flashing lights. She looked tired and blank.

“Headed over there now.” Nick walked towards the triage area clearing his mind of everything but the witness. He put her right around 34, middle class job from a lower class background given the clothes, cheap dye job. Judging by the ink smudges on her hands she was probably some kind of paper pusher. “Ms. Keiber?”

The woman woke up a little, flashed him a tired smile.

“That’s me. What can I do for you?”

“I’m Detective Nick Burkhardt.” She seemed to perk up at the introduction, her gaze turning speculative. Nick flushed a little; he still wasn’t quite over Juliette and that kind of attention coming from another woman felt wrong. “If you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions for me?”

“No, of course not. The officer said you’d be by.”

“Great. I hear you were first on the scene?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m new to the area, I’ve been walking the neighborhood to kind of get to know it and I heard this...weird scream, like it wasn’t quite a scream yet, kind of...stopped? Bitten off? And I’ve, uh, done some domestic violence outreach so I knocked on the door and looked through the window and he was...” She swallowed and pulled the blanket around her shoulders.

“I understand—”

“Detective Burkhardt.” 

“Captain!”

“There’s been another homicide down by the docks. Could be related to this one. Take Hank and get down there. I’ll take care of your witness debrief personally.” That was...odd. Not against protocol or anything, but still weird for Renard to rush him like that. But his Captain’s posture and tone left Nick no room for negotiation.

“Uh, okay. Sure, whatever you say, sir.” Nick flashed a small smile at Ms. Keiber, who responded in kind, and headed off at a fast clip.

“I can say with certainty that I haven’t been anywhere near the docks, your Majesty.” Renard turned, his eyes an inhuman gold. “But I’ve been enjoying the other sights.”

“I’ve noticed,” Renard said, baring his pointed teeth. The Grimm leaned back, striking a seductive picture.

“You’re welcome.” She made it sound like an invitation.

He lashed out, his talons parting the metal tray she used as a shield like water and embedding into the Ambulance wall. She injected him with something from the tray and used the handful of seconds it took his body to purge the drugs to escape out the front. He reverted to human form and casually walked around the back of the ambulance, ambling towards the front.

Dietrich was headed away from the crime scene at a steady, un-alarming pace. She even paused to exchange a few words with the officer guarding the perimeter. No one paid her any mind. Renard followed suit, weaving in between people to keep her in sight. When they were far enough from the crime scene they both broke into sprints. Renard was aware of members of his and Nick’s security detail dodging his footsteps and closing in around him.

She took a hard left down an alley. Renard didn’t slow down for the turn, instead crashing into the far wall and bouncing off it to keep his momentum.

The smell of lowen blood hit him. One of his guard, throat slashed, and no sign of the Grimm. Her scent trail ended. Just vanished. Renard punched the wall in frustration. He cracked the brick.

Moments later his people arrived, swarming on the scene, but they wouldn’t find anything. Renard growled in frustration and stalked off, planning all the ways he would take apart the Grimm for daring to get near Nick.

***

“Well this is new.” Nick stared in bemusement at Monroe, who was standing on his porch with a bunch of bags. Monroe had never been to his house before last week. Now he showed up almost nightly, some special blutbad sense telling him when Nick was home. But this was the first time he’d shown up at dinner time. (To be fair, Nick hadn’t actually been home in time for dinner in the past week or so.)

“I figured I’d let you know how it feels. Except I brought food. Which kind of defeats the purpose, but you eat processed sand. Fresh from the co-opt!” Nick just shook his head mutely and let Monroe in. He wasn’t going to turn down a Monroe-cooked meal.

Nick popped open a beer and watched Monroe putter around the kitchen, tuning out his chatter. There was something weird going on in his city. Something that had the Creature population agitated and was getting them murdered—Nick had seen enough small signs on each of the victim to determine their status, if not their particular flavor of creature. He was putting together a puzzle, but just didn’t have enough of the pieces to see the picture. Bit it was possible Monroe might know something.

He bided his time, keeping the talk light and unassuming through the (really, really excellent) dinner, through a bottle of wine so Monroe was as relaxed as possible. Nick opened another beer and settled at the table, one eye on Monroe washing dishes at the sink.

“So does this have anything to do with the wesen that are stalking me?” Nick winced at the sound of crockery crashing into the sink.

“Wh-what? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Stalking? pshaw. Who’d be stupid enough to stalk a Grimm, that’s like...something really stupid.”

“You mean you haven’t noticed all the creatures suddenly hanging around your house? And mine?”

“Wait, when were you at my house?”

“Monroe.”

“No, seriously, do you check up on me? Are _you_ a stalker? I hate to break it you, but _Twilight_ is a work of terrible fiction, not a how-to guide.”

“...wouldn’t that make you Bella, and me the werewolf?” Nick asked. Monroe glared. 

"Vampire," Monroe corrected not quite under his breath. Nick smirked, but didn’t back down. He watched silently as Monroe’s bravado slipped away, until the wolf got twitchy, his eyes flitting form place to place.

“It’s mating season,” Monroe blurted, and Nick boggled.

“Mating season.”

“Yep. Season of mate.”

“Oh.” Monroe relaxed. “So you’re not going to tell me what’s going on.”

“Nick! There’s nothing to tell. Maybe it's your Grimm paranoid psychosis finally manifesting. But really, dude, nothing going on here. I'm just trying to do a friend a solid, nothing else. Geez, it's like you don't want me around or something.” Nick decided this wasn’t the time to rehash the ‘Monroe is a terrible liar’ conversation. And there was something...almost desperate about Monroe’s tone that made him willing to let Monroe off the hook. It was always possible Monroe was just picking up on something at an instinctual level.

Possible, but not even remotely probable.

***

Renard perched atop the clock tower, senses reaching over his territory. The wind whispered secrets to him, the trees passed on stories of his people. Little transgressions, the small loves and deaths of small people. He reached out and found Nick, so different from all the others, bright and pulsing and _alive._ The blutbad was near by, and the others that guarded Nick at their King’s behest. Satisfied, Renard expanded his senses outwards.

The heartbeat of his lands was strong and steady and familiar. Calm, at the moment. And so he waited, for some sense of wrong to come through.

It came at almost 3 AM, the first whispers of fear and death. He found the thread, thin and black, and followed it to its source. He was too late to save the bauerschwein, but the Grimm was still here. And they had a score to settle.

He caught her by surprise, dug his talons into her back and drew first blood, but she was prepared, well armored and well equipped. A gauntleted hand with spikes on it smashed into his face twice in quick succession, forcing Renard to let her go. She turned and tried again but he used his fangs to tear into the gauntlet, bending the joints and turning it into a hindrance. She jumped and pushed off his chest with both her feet, sending them careening away from each other.

“I have to admit, you’ve proven much more challenging than I was lead to believe,” she said, panting and grinning with adrenalin. Renard wasn’t interested in small talk, but a part of his brain filed that away for later scrutiny.

With her mobility limited and in such close quarters, Renard had the advantage. And he used it, leaping at her and driving them both to the floor. He had her on her back, throat bared for the kill. She touched something on her person and a thousand volts raced through Renard’s body, turning his muscles to water and addling his brain.

He felt her moving beneath him, shoving him off weakly. She crawled away from him, laughing breathlessly.

“Sucks,” she gasped, pulling herself to her feet. “Trade off. But...worth it.” She tried to draw a knife but her coordination was shot and it fell to the ground. Renard rolled clumsily to his knees, teeth bared in a threatening smile even though he had to lean against a couch to stay upright. He always had his weapons at hand.

“Next time,” she promised, stumbling towards the back door. “I’m getting tired of the chase.”

Renard could not agree more.


	4. Chapter 4

Nick had kicked Monroe out of his house and headed back to the office after several hours of restless sleeping. He kept looking over their murders, trying to find the connection. It was pushing 5 AM and he was seriously considering trying to sack out on one of the beds in the backroom, if only to give his eyes a break.

He looked up when the door banged opened and Renard stepped in, barking orders into his phone and holding an ice pack to his face.

“I don’t want excuses, do it now.” He ended the call and pulled the ice away. Nick was out of his seat and by Renard in moments, reaching out to touch his face.

“Jesus, what happened?” Renard caught him by the wrist, looking a little feral, nostrils flaring, until he registered Nick and relaxed. He shook off the wildness and released Nick’s hand.

“Got mugged.” Nick frowned at the deep bruises that were already forming. Those didn’t look like fist marks. Definitely made by something harder and more unforgiving. There were a few points of impact that looked deeper than the others.

“Brass knuckles?” he asked, and Renard stiffened. “We should get you to a hospital, make sure you didn’t bruise the bone.”

“I’m fine, I gave my report to two officers out of the 810.” Renard waved Nick off and headed for his office. “Get some sleep, you look like crap!”

Nick watched him go, torn between taking Renard at his word and his need to _investigate_ Renard’s attack. But doing anything without Renard’s permission would be unprofessional (and not a little creepy given his resources). Nick walked towards the backroom when a thought struck him. What was Renard doing in Central at this time of night?

***

Fuck. Renard pulled the blinds closed, cutting him off from the office...and Nick’s suspicious eyes. What the hell was Nick doing here? At this time? 

Renard texted a warning to Adalind and two minutes later there was a knock on his window. He let her in, wincing at the marks her claws left on the stone wall.

“Why wasn’t I warned?” Renard hissed.

“I am not his babysitter,” Adalind snapped, reaching for his face. Renard slapped her hand away and paced. Adalind settled herself at his desk and waited. There was nothing she could do until he calmed down. “You specifically didn’t ask for movement reports, remember?” Renard growled and kept moving, waiting for the need to move and fight leeched out of him.

It took a while.

Adalind had slipped into a lite doze by the time Renard drew to a stop in the center of his office, eyes closed. Her eye snapped open, sleep gone in an instant, when the sounds of his footfalls stopped. A slight nod and she approached her King carefully, pots and brushes in her hands. She efficiently applied the heavy makeup she’d brought with her, wincing at the depth of the bruises.

“She’s escalating,” he said. “These murders, they’re about Nick.”

“It’s no secret she wants Nick dead. That you’ve thrown yourself between them is bonus points.”

“She was sent here by someone.” Adalind paused. Well that changed things.

“Do you know who?” The expression on Renard’s face could hardly be called a smile.

“I have a very good idea. Up the detail on Nick. Let yourself out the way you came in.”

***

Nick ducked down a side street and pressed himself against the wall. He counted down from seven under his breath and sure enough, as soon as he hit zero two wesen ran past his hiding spot. He didn’t catch their faces. He waited a little longer just to make sure he’d slipped them all then ran across the street to duck into another alley.

He meandered through the small streets of Portland, no destination in mind except to show his shadows that he knew about them and could escape them whenever he wanted. On an unrelated note, it was nice to re-familiarize himself with the city. He’d known these streets backwards and forwards as a rookie, biking and then driving with his training officer.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up and Nick paused, senses alert for whatever had set him off. There, the faint sounds of a struggle. Nick moved cautiously nearer, trying to pin point the source, when the unmistakable crash of metal on stone gave him direction.

He drew his gun and approached slowly.

A fuchsbau stumbled out of the shadows and straight into Nick, falling to her knees. She stayed fox-faced, not even a flicker of her human mask present, eyes wide and terrified. He saw the moment she registered what Nick was, but instead of running away she threw herself at him.

“Please.” She pressed her face into Nick’s legs and he could feel her trembling. “Please I—I’ll swear to you, you aren’t, it’s all I have, they said you wouldn’t kill me, don’t let her kill me, please. Please.”

“Hey.” Nick crouched down and tried to recall all his training in dealing with distraught witnesses. The first thing he did was put away his gun to try and present as nonthreatening front a Grimm could. “Breathe. Ok? Breathe with me. In...out...there you go. Ok, I need you to tell me who you’re running from.” She pulled back and blinked at him, shocked.

“The...the other Grimm.”

“What other Grimm?”

“That would be me.” The fuchsbau screamed and scrambled away, behind Nick. A woman stepped out of the alley, stepping into the light with a casual arrogance. “Hello, Nick. It’s nice to really meet you.”

He put her age at mid-thirties, 5’6”, dishwater blonde hair pulled into a severe braid. At least seven different weapons secreted on her person, probably more. What looked like an old scar from a claw exposed by the collar of her plain grey tee. And she felt...off.

“You’re a Grimm,” Nick said, trying to parse what, exactly, was going on here. He wasn’t getting much from the woman—everything about her was either generic or deadly and generic. Though he could see evidence of old and new wounds, ranging from a day to a week old, peeking from underneath her makeup and clothes. She was used to hiding bruises.

“Well you’re just a regular Sherlock, aren’t you?” She walked around him, assessing, and Nick twisted with her, keeping himself in front of the fuchsbau. “I really don’t understand why he stood for you.”

“Who?”

“Seriously, how are you still alive? Are you dumb, or just that blind to what’s going on around you?” Nick let the insults slide off him. Just another tactic, trying to get him angry so he’d make a mistake.

“Pretend I’m dumb and explain it to me?” he said hopefully. She laughed, an ugly sound.

“Your King is going to die because of you.” She looked him up and down and smirked. “If you walk away from this alive, you should really do something _special_ to _thank_ him.” The way her voice dropped, slightly seductive, reminded Nick of...

“Lara Keiber. The witness from the Rightmann homicide.” Her eyes were a different color, as was her bearing and carriage; she must have dyed her hair (or worn a really good wig) as well, but Nick could see the resemblance now.

“Give the boy a kewpie doll,” she drawled.

“You killed him.”

“He was a lausenschlange,” she said dismissively.

“He was a single father of three!” Nick said, remembering the way the oldest—18 for three months and suddenly an adult in the real world—had looked when CPS came to talk to him about his siblings.

“You really are exactly like they say,” the other Grimm said. “Weak. Pathetic. _You_ are the legacy of Marie Kessler? I think I’m doing the world a favor.”

Nick raised his gun but a small stiletto knife was already in the air. It caught his wrist, right at the bone, and Nick dropped the gun. But he’d been expecting something like that, and he moved faster than she anticipated, launching himself straight at her and bowling her into a large dumpster. The corner tore into the skin underneath her scapula and she yelled, then sank her teeth into Nick’s neck. He pushed her away and stumbled back, hand connecting with an old school aluminum trashcan. He ripped the lid off just in time to use it as a shield, deflecting the large hunting knife she was wielding easily in her left hand.

Nick was losing ground and he needed a weapon; he was going to start carrying his extra gun while he was off duty from now on.

“Not bad,” Lara said, tossing her knife from hand to hand with arrogant aplomb. “But not good enough.” 

The way she came at Nick reminded him of Oleg Stark: unceasing and without mercy. He was outclassed on all fronts, and the only thing he could do was try and slow her down. He protected himself as much as possible, got in a couple of good hits, but he soon found himself pinned on his back, face bloody and chest exposed.

She raised her knife for the killing blow, the blade glinting in the light. Something moved at the corner of his eye.

The fuchsbau dug into the woman’s knife hand with her teeth, holding on tenaciously even though Nick could see how terrified she was. Nick scrambled to his feet when she turned to deal with this new threat, and he grabbed the first thing at hand—a piece of broken piping.

The Grimm punched the fuchsbau in the head, once, twice before the fuchsbau let go, collapsing dazed to the ground. He prepared himself for another assault but she paused, head tilted, attention fixed behind him. A few seconds later he heard faint footsteps racing towards them.

Nick hurled the pipe at her, but she batted it down with a sneer.

“Tell your King hi,” she said. “And that I’m coming for him.” She turned and sprinted down the alley, where two buildings came together at an odd angle. She scaled the wall using one hand and running straight up the wall, pushing up and off each wall with her feet in an impressive display of athleticism. She cleared the roof and disappeared.

A pained whimper from the fuchsbau brought Nick’s attention back to her.

“Hey.” She shrank away from him and Nick immediately backed off, keeping his voice low and soothing. “Hey, it’s okay, she’s gone. Yeah? She’s gone, and I need to see how you are. Alright? I’m going to touch you to check your wounds.” He kept up a low murmur of words while he ran a standard check for concussion, determining that the shallow cut over her eye wouldn’t need stitches.

Behind him, the footsteps were getting louder, and multiplying. He briefly thought about retrieving his gun, but the wesen that had been stalking him could have taken him out long ago if that was their goal. Overwhelmed him with sheer numbers. So Nick went with his instincts and kept comforting the fuchsbau that had saved his life, whose name turned out to be Natalia.

“Here!” he heard someone call, and turned to face Adalind Schade. He stood protectively in front of the fuchsbau, attention fixed on the gun in the hexenbiest’s hand. A lowen, a jägerbar, and a skalenzahne fell in after her.

“Where is she?”

“Escaped on the roof. Doubt you’ll find her. Left a message for your King.” At a nod from the hexenbiest, the lowen and skalenzahne quickly scaled the wall and disappeared. The jägerbar approached Natalia, but Nick stepped between them.

“I know her,” the bear said, hands raised in surrender. Nick glanced back at Natalia, who nodded, and Nick grudgingly let the jägerbar pass.

“What was it? The message?” Nick ignored her in favor of retrieving his gun, giving it a quick once over to make sure nothing was bent or broken.

“How about I tell him directly?” He holstered his weapon and crossed his arms over his chest. The small twitch the hexenbiest gave told him she’d been watching long enough to know what that meant. Good.

“Hello, Nick.” Nick spun around, heart racing, and gasped. The creature that stepped out of the shadows was nothing Nick had come across in his books.

There was a twisted crown on top of his head, glowing with a soft gold light, almost like a halo. The impression of small, delicate-looking gold-flecked scales glittered on bronze skin, and grew larger as they flowed down his shirtless torso. His eyes were bright green slits. Nick swore he could see the shadowy outline of wings stretched behind him, not quite manifested. “You have a message for me?”

“You’re the King.” He looked closer, taking everything he could. Like Lara, he bore subtle signs of a fight. Two places on his torso that were white, no scales apparent, surrounded by scales that had taken on a greenish hue—his version of bruising, perhaps. More of the same greenish color on his face, knots of white on his arms. Nick could feel his mind working on a puzzle in the background, subconsciously aware of something and struggling to bring it to the surface. He let it receded into the recesses of his mind; he’d figure out the answer eventually. Pushing never helped.

“Of Portland and its surrounding Territories.”

“You’ve been having me followed.” Nick tried to keep his tone calm and rational. This was clearly an individual with a lot of power. They were surrounded by his people. It would not be a good idea to start a fight. Plus Nick was feeling more than beat up already.

“A precaution that has benefited you.” Nick’s fingernail bit into his palms and stung. The King cocked his head to one side, gaze sliding over Nick’s body in a way that wasn’t just about assessing the damage. “In the interest of full disclosure, I’ve had Dr. Silverton followed as well.” 

Nick’s control snapped, and he attacked the King.


	5. Chapter 5

Renard let Nick shove him against the wall, his arm pressed hard against Renard’s throat. Nick pressed his fingers into the scars on Renard’s chest, making Renard hiss out a long breath. The part of him not bright with pain applauded Nick’s ruthlessness. (There was another, unacknowledged, part of himself that was busy cataloguing how much of Nick was touching him, how close together they were; Nick was incandescent in his fury.)

Renard fought his natural inclination to free himself. He felt Adalind coming towards them and threw up a hand, silently commanding his people to let this play out; Nick’s anger was both expected and understandable. They all took up discrete positions out of sight at Adalind’s word, so Renard turned his full attention to his Grimm.

“How do you know about Juliette?” Nick said, digging in harder. Renard let the pain wash over him, welcomed it in like an old friend as he’d been taught. Exquisite. 

“You think I let a Grimm run around in my kingdom without knowing everything about him?” Renard asked, a lazy, mocking note winding through his words. “Marie Kessler’s nephew and heir to her legacy?”

“You had her killed.” Nick’s voice was flat and dangerous. Renard decided this was an opportune time to show Nick how outclassed he was. He grabbed both of Nick’s wrists and used the one at his neck to spin Nick around so they were front to back, Nick’s arms crossed over his body and caging him in. He let Nick struggle for a moment then used his whole body to shove Nick off and send him stumbling to the other side of the alley.

One day, he wouldn’t be able to get away with that (unless Nick allowed him). Nick would match him, outpace him in some ways, but that day was not here yet.

“As I said: I _let_ you run around in my kingdom.” Nick rubbed his wrists and glared but the King’s point had been made: he was stronger and faster than Nick, even injured. Even when Nick had the upper hand.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you...protecting Juliette?”

“I’m protecting you. Juliette is part of that. Or am I mistaken?” Nick stared at him, so hard, and Renard weathered it. Kept up appearances for the sake of his cover.

“No,” Nick finally said, sullen and resentful. “You told Monroe not to tell me.” Renard barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

“Your pet blutbad resides in Portland at my pleasure.” If Nick was going to hate him for this, Renard might as well bare all his sins. Though the way Nick bristled in Monroe’s defense made something dangerous stir in Renard’s chest. “I want you far away from this situation, and the easiest way was making sure you never knew of it in the first place.”

“You still haven’t told me why,” Nick said. Renard was almost proud at how well Nick controlled himself, kept on point.

“You are part of the Creature world, Nick. _My_ world, as long as you’re in Portland. Which means you’re mine to protect. I have a vested interest in your survival. This rogue Grimm has a vested interest in your violent demise.” Renard leaned forward, just into Nick’s space. _“I am going to win.”_

Nick believed him. He didn’t trust him, not yet, but he absolutely believed him. It was a start. And a better ending to this conversation than he’d expected.

“Leave me alone,” Nick said. “I can take care of myself.” He turned his back to Renard—stupid, stupid move, little Grimm, so naïve, and it took all of Renard’s considerable control to show him why you _never_ turn your back—and walked away.

“If you want to look me up in your books, Nick,” he called, leaving the kernel of knowledge dangling. Three steps before Nick faltered, five before he stopped, turned his head so he could just see Renard standing there. Renard grinned; so young, sometimes, his Grimm. “You’ll find us under Regnant.” He vaulted straight up to the roof, a move that he’d be feeling for days, but it was worth it.

***

Nick went to his trailer and looked up everything he had on Regnants. Information was sparse, a few sketches and some oblique references. One frustratingly blacked out document he found at the bottom of a chest.

So he went to his usual source.

\---

“Hey, Nick, I—”

“Met the King today. Said he knew you.” Monroe swallowed. Shit.

“I guess you better come in,” Monroe said to the air. Nick had already pushed past him, their shoulders hitting together pointedly. “Right. Great. This is going to be fun.”

Nick paced the room like a caged tiger. Monroe could smell frustration, anger and confusion coming off him in waves. So he waited.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t—”

“I thought we were friends, Monroe!”

“We are!” Monroe froze, looking stunned and trapped by that admission, and then forced himself to relax. “We. We are. My family’s going to eat me for this.”

“The King won’t protect you?” Monroe glared and Nick admitted to himself that was pretty bitchy. Monroe grumbled something under his breath and made them both a cup of tea. (Nick figured drinking his was a pretty damned good apology because ugh. Tea.) Monroe sighed.

“Look, I really don’t know that much about it. Them. Regnants. They’re...they’re not like us.”

“What, wesen?”

“They’re with us, but they’re not of us. Kind of like you Grimm. You’re part of our world, but you’re not one of us. I only know the stories. They bind themselves to the land and keep everyone in line through some sort of...voodoo, I don’t know. Most of them have been around for a long time and they don’t really care anymore. They’ve all gone underground. Inactive. Portland’s a new seat, and the King is pretty active. It’s...rare. And one of the reasons I moved here. He’s the only one I’ve met.”

“Why’d he tell you to watch me?”

“Um. I guess this is a bad time to tell you he made you a part of his Court?” 

“What?”

“Dude, come on, you’re Grimming all over my house!” Nick did not calm down, and Monroe resigned himself to doing spring cleaning early. Eau de Grimm was not easily removed. “I only found out, like, a week ago. You’re some kind of Creature cop, but, like, cooler. Basically the King’s told everyone you’re okay and not a murderous boogeyman and everything you do has his blessing. You’re like the Grimm ambassador; you’ve got immunity in the Creature world. Well, from the King. Other wesen are still going to eat you as soon as they can. You should really ask Rabe for the details.”

“Frank Rabe? The jägerbar? Why him?”

“Well, apparently he keeps up with this stuff whereas I...don’t. The King made him a Herald.” Munroe shrugged. “Royalty’s not really my thing.”

“What else?” Nick asked wearily.

“Well, I’m pretty sure Regnants are dragons?” Monroe offered, and Nick had to laugh at his stupid, ridiculous life.

***

Nick drove up the long, winding drive and past the totem poles that still creeped him out. He’d thought about calling first but he didn’t want to give Frank Rabe any time to edit himself.

“Detective Burkhardt.” Frank glanced down his driveway for a police cruiser. “What can I do for you?”

“I have a few questions about the Königshof,” Nick said.

“Ah. Come in.” Nick stepped into the house and felt small. It felt like the Rabes did everything a half-size bigger than everyone else. Frank lead him into the kitchen. “Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?”

“Coffee, strong as you can stand.” Frank apparently took that as a challenge because the cup he handed Nick could have melted asphalt. Nick caught movement outside and leaned back so he could see through the window. Two people were wrestling, a robust boy Nick assumed was Barry and...

“...is that Roddy?” Frank grimaced, a familiar expression Nick’s seen on countless parents.

“They’re ‘practicing.’ I’ve learned not to ask questions.” Nick shook his head and chuckled. He worried about Roddy from time to time, but the kid resisted every effort at taking an interest; it was good to know someone was looking out for him. 

“So, your questions,” Frank prompted.

“You know about the other Grimm.” Frank leaned over the counter and snagged his briefcase. He pulled out a worn folder—different color from the others, similar to the ones they used at the department—and handed it to Nick. Frank read through his own briefs while Nick went through the file. It documented Lara Dietrich’s life, her movements about the country after she became active at seventeen, her association with Aunt Marie. And her kills. _Known_ kills, the list was titled, there was a separate one for suspected that was just as long. Her murders. Jesus, she even had a signature. 

Nick closed the file and pushed it away. The information sat heavy on his soul; he needed time to sort through it, and the implication of Aunt Marie’s involvement.

“Monroe said you were a Herald?”

“Those of us who have chosen to live lives within the bounds of human society have our own council. We deal with what problems we can. My job is to facilitate communication between the King and this council. I also bring the problems that are a little too large or divisive for us to sort out amongst ourselves to his attention.”

“And how does Lara Dietrich factor in?”

“Complicated. I can’t explain all of the politics to you in an afternoon, but in the broad strokes she’s killing wesen because she’s gunning for you and she knows you’re a cop. It’s impossible to protect everyone, so we’ve been taking steps to protect ourselves. But not every creature is part of our group, or even interested, so there are cracks. And her continued presences undermines the King’s power base with every day that passes.”

“But why _me?_ I don’t get it.”

“The King...made you his equal.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s not my place to ask,” Frank said with a shrug. “But you’re the first in over a thousand years. At least. My guess is that it got her attention.”

“She did say she was doing the world a favor killing me.”

“You’ve _met_ her?” Nick motioned to the green and yellow bruises on his face. “I’m surprised you’re still alive.”

“Here by the grace of a fuchsbau.”

“Huh. That’s...” Frank shook his head. “Look, I don’t actually know the extent of what’s going on. The King is charting new ground here. She Challenged for your place during a Königshof, and the King stepped in as your Champion. That’s the second thing no one has ever done for a Grimm before, and rarely for a subject, because this ends with one of them dead. So whatever is going on, my advice—and that bills at over $400 an hour—is that you let the King sort it out.”

***

“Nick!” Hank threw a balled up piece of paper at his partner, laughing when Nick almost dumped himself on the ground. Served him right, the way he liked to balance his chair on its back legs. “You alright? You’ve been out of it all day.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just...got a lot on my mind.” Hank frowned, and expression Nick was all to used to seeing on Juliette after he’d become a Grimm.

“Is this a Juliette thing?” Hand asked. They’d tried getting back together, and then just being friends, and both those adventures had ended poorly. The first had been optimistically ill advised, the second had suffered from a lack of time and space. In Hank’s four-times-over expert opinion, they needed at least another six months before trying to the friends route again.

“No. No, nothing like that. We’re...still not really talking.” Right, not about Juliette at all. Hank clapped Nick on the back, hard enough Nick almost fell into his desk.

“You’ll pull through it. Whatever’s bothering you.” Nick wished it were that easy, but it was nice knowing someone was on his side. No alternate agenda. 

“Burkhardt, with me.” The Captain’s voice made both detectives snap to attention. Nick shot Hank a pleading look.

“Uh uh. You’re on your own with this one,” Hank said, smirking. “Into the lion’s den with you!”

“You’re a prince, Hank. Best partner a guy could ask for,” Nick said. Hank waved him on and Nick steeled himself for whatever the Captain had to say.

“Sit, please,” Renard said, gesturing elegantly to the chairs in front of his desk.

“Thank you,” Nick said, settling in with a sigh. Renard had the most comfortable furniture. “Sir?”

“You seem distracted, Detective.” Renard raised a hand to cut off Nick’s protests. “That’s not an admonition, or a comment on your work. Not yet. That’s just a...personal observation. If there’s anything going on that you need to talk about, or you need some time off...”

“No. No, sir, I don’t.” Time off might be the worst thing. Nick didn’t need more empty spaces to obsess about what was going on. And he felt safe in the station, surrounded by Portland’s best. “I’ll try to do better.”

“I know. You always do. You’re a good cop, Nick. Don’t be afraid to ask for what you need.” For a moment, Nick allowed himself the fantasy of confessing everything to Renard. Telling him about Creatures, Grimms, this clusterfuck of a situation with Lara Dietrich. About the puzzle pieces being assembled somewhere in his head, a quiet buzz that was almost distracting. It was so tempting. And felt real in a way that his dreams of telling Juliette (or Hank, or Wu in his desperate moments) hadn’t been.

“I won’t,” Nick promised. He felt Renard’s gaze on him as he left.


	6. Chapter 6

The calm before the storm. That’s what the four days of (relative) peace and quiet were before the bitch grabbed one of his hexenbiest and left her scattered over a square mile of woods. She had the audacity to call it in herself.

Renard had been one of the first on the scene, for once in his life ignoring the strict rules that kept any of his officers (Nick) from suspecting there was more to their Captain than they realized. They were all giving him a wide berth, conversations dying out as he approached, senior officers sending their rookies to brave the Captain’s mood.

Renard noted every marker, every cordoned-off area that was a little more of his servant. He could smell her pain and fear and, underneath it all, the defiance she’d clung to till the very end.

For the first time since his ascent Renard came very close to losing his composure.

\---

Nick watched his captain with concern. He was curt with the officers and studying the crime scene with an unusual intensity. Renard was one of the most professional people Nick knew, but he was behaving like this was personal. Which, okay, all murder was personal to cops and Renard had this whole ‘my city, keep it safe’ mantra going on. But there wasn’t enough to identify who the victim was, and most of the crime scene personnel were still working their way up to anger, still caught on disgust and horror.

Then Nick saw the mark on the tongue, which had been nailed to a tree, and realized their victim was a hexenbiest. And the murderer had to be Lara Dietrich. He now knew something about this crime that he couldn’t share.

He glanced up and caught a glimpse of Renard’s profile, features hidden by shadows, and the pieces of the puzzle he’d been assembling in the back of his mind clicked together. Formed a picture, filled in the blanks, and came up with an answer. Nick stared at where he knew bruises were hidden, turned to barely discernible shadows by make up, that when layered over the King’s visage matched exactly. The injuries Renard had started showing up with, right when these murders began. Right when the other Grimm showed up. The early morning ‘mugging.’ Frank Rabe’s file, a murdered hexenbiest and Renard’s rage.

Nick had thought he’d dealt with the worst of his anger. He realized he hadn’t even brushed the surface. He felt himself slip into that increasingly familiar place where violence was a breath away and his anger felt sharp and cold.

Renard glanced at him and they locked eyes.

And he knew that Nick knew. A flash of emotion and then it was gone, locked away under an impeccable façade.

Nick turned on his heel and stalked away, ignoring Hank’s calls, threading his way through officers and tech people until he was well past the crime scene, moving deeper into the forest, through a large glade until Renard had enough and caught up with him.

“Nick.” He ground his teeth together and kept walking. Trying to outpace his rage. “Nick! Ni—” He turned and punched Renard in the face. It would have been a beautiful hit, too, if not for Renard’s reflexes. Nick wasn’t satisfied with the glancing blow across Renard’s cheek and tried for a follow up, but Renard was fully on guard now and stopped him handily. He kicked Nick’s legs from under him and sent the detective sprawling on the loam.

“You bastard,” Nick said.

“Nick.”

“You killed Aunt Marie.” Renard rubbed his eyebrow, already feeling a tension headache setting in.

“This is not the time or the place—”

“No.” Nick pushed up to his feet, eyes blazing. “You don’t get to make any more rules.”

Something rustled in the trees and Renard shifted to his creature form. It was enough to startle Nick into silence, seeing proof of what he knew. Seeing Renard for who he truly was. The Regnant. The King. He was breathtaking in the full light of day.

“Nick,” Renard said, his tone low and urgent, an extra layer of resonance to his voice in this shape. “We will hash this out, I promise you, but I need you to do exactly what I say and not interfere.” 

“What? I don’t—” The air was knocked out of him as Renard threw himself on top of Nick and used their momentum to keep them going. He rolled them behind a tree and Nick heard the dull sound of bullets hitting the wood. Someone was shooting at them, high caliber through a silencer.

The forest went silent.

Nick’s back was against the tree, Renard crouched above him. He was looking cautiously around the tree, scanning the small clearing. His features shifted subtly, settling more fully into the change, and Renard’s words finally took hold in Nick’s brain. He grabbed Renard’s tie and pulled; not hard enough as Renard barely shifted, swatting at Nick like an annoying gnat.

“I’m not going to let you do this alone!” Nick hissed, keeping his voice low. Renard glanced down at him, his eyes already inhuman.

“You will only get me killed,” Renard said, fingers moving over the buttons on his dress shirt. Nick stared up dumbly as his Captain shrugged out of his shirts, and it suddenly became harder to breathe. Renard dropped his clothes on Nick’s lap and slipped out of his shoes. “If you want to help, keep those wearable.” Renard moved to stand, but Nick pulled him back down by the wrist. A little too hard, though, because Renard toppled forward onto his knees, one on each side of Nick’s hips.

“I’m not letting you do this alone,” Nick said. He held Renard’s gaze, refused to be the first to look away. But it wasn’t easy. This was his Captain, someone Nick was used to obeying and who was used to being obeyed.

“She outclasses you. She’s survived two fights with me, and I’ve given you a practical demonstration of my abilities.” Nick pressed his lips together because, yes, he was still trying to come to terms with how easily the—Renard had handled him. Renard leaned down until they were eye to eye. “Stay. Here.”

Nick swallowed and nodded, once.

“Good boy,” Renard said, and was up the tree in a flash, leaping through the canopy. He heard the dull sound of a bullet impact several more times, in various places around the clearing, and wondered how the hell this had become his life.

\---

Renard had a vague idea where the Grimm was hiding, but he needed more accurate information. Once he was clear of Nick he strategically revealed himself in various areas, tracking where the shots were coming from. There was something about them that seemed off, but nothing concrete; were they taking just a little too long given Dietrich's skill set? or missing him by just too wide a margin? were her injuries throwing her off?

Regardless, he had her location, so he looped around, traveling high in the canopy to avoid easy detection. He spied the sniper’s nest and suspended himself just above it. He heard a low sound and the tip of the gun shifted minutely towards where Nick was hiding. Renard pounced.

There was no one. Renard tore away the layers of netting and cloth to reveal a gun attached to some kind of machine and a computer. The gun suddenly moved, almost silent on its cams, and Renard caught the movement of a small animal just before the gun fired.

An automatic sighting rig. Renard knocked the contraption over and took off for Nick’s hiding spot as fast as he could go.

\---

Nick, not for the first time, wondered what he was doing hiding behind a tree clutching Renard’s shirt and shoes. He wasn’t a wait-and-see kind of person. Which was probably why he felt jumpy, starting at every sound. Except...

Except the forest was too quiet. No birds, no insects, not even a breeze rustling the leaves. Nick stood, keeping the tree at his back, and scanned the area around him. Renard would likely come from above, using the canopy to his tactical advantage; Nick doubted Lara Dietrich had that kind of strength, so assuming she was ground-bound—

A branch broke. Nick held his breath and strained to hear—another sound, the rustle of leaves, almost too quiet to hear.

He ducked out of the way just in time, the wood where his head had been splintering as the bullets hit. He let his instincts guide him, zig-zagging through the trees as fast as he could move. And still clutching his Captain’s shirt.

Nick caught movement out of his eye and put on a burst of speed but he couldn’t out run a bullet. It was only a matter of time and when he heard the muffled crack, he was prepared for the pain. The cold burn of the bullet that blossomed into agony...

But it never came. Instead a growl, low and menacing.

Nick turned to look and saw Renard take another pair of bullets to his chest and keep going, wrenching the gun out of Dietrich’s hand. She slashed him with sharpened gauntlets, the fingers sharp and spikes set on the knuckles, opening up a wound on his shoulder but Renard didn’t react. They traded vicious blows with each other, each one drawing blood. They moved faster than Nick could track, fists flying.

Nick realized Renard had wings. Bat-like, _dragon-like_ wings the color of deep bronze, strong enough to buffet his opponent. They helped keep him upright, flaring and banking as a counter weight. Dietrich managed to backhand the membrane of one wing, catching it with her sharpened studs and dragging so deep furrows appeared. Nick winced; Renard roared and threw her into a tree. She came up laughing, a viciously hooked knife in each hand.

When they came back together, Dietrich trying to disembowel Renard with her knives, he was obviously slightly off kilter and favoring his left side. She capitalized on his weakness, concentrating on keeping him off balance, widening and reopening the wounds she’d already left. Renard’s attacks seemed mostly superficial and ineffectual; Dietrich was wearing some kind of body armor over her torso and most vulnerable spots, something Renard’s claws couldn’t pierce.

Renard stumbled over a root and Dietrich's gauntlet slammed into his chest, right over one of his bullet wounds. Renard flailed and rocked back on his heels, reaching out for something to steady him; he got a fist full of the Grimm’s vest, claws sinking in, but it left him vulnerable. She brought her knife down but Renard deflected it so it skittered over his ribs instead of skewering him. He kept his grip on her shirt and dropped to the ground, right on his back with his wings spread wide, bringing his feet up between them and sending her somersaulting over his head.

She lost her knives and her breath in the fall, but it took him too long to get up, his wings cumbersome on the ground. She flew at him and he blocked her punches easily, but the unforgiving metal was hard on his arms; every blow reverberated through him. Almost as if she sensed his pain Dietrich redoubled her efforts, dancing around and raining blows down upon him.

And then there was a moment, the barest half a second, where Dietrich overreached herself. Left her chest exposed, trusting the armor and Renard’s weakness to keep her safe. Like a dance partner, Renard stepped into her personal space and the world seemed to stop. No sound, no movement, just the two of them, nose to nose, Renard’s hand buried past the wrist in Lara Dietrich’s torso where he’d worried and weakened her protective vest, right up under her rib cage. He could feel her blood flowing over his hand, her heart pounding against his fingertips.

“No one threatens what’s mine,” Renard said. He tightened his grip, his talons piercing smooth muscle.

“This isn’t...over,” she said, her eyes dimming, defiant to the last.

“It is for you.” Renard pulled his hand away and let Lara Dietrich’s body drop to the ground.

Renard stood there, mottled sunlight making his skin gleam gold, bloody and triumphant. Nick must have moved or made a sound or breathed too loud because suddenly Renard was _there,_ in his space, nose pressed against Nick’s neck and this was a really, really inappropriate time to be turned on. But Nick felt awash in adrenalin, as if _he’d_ just fought to the death, and the way Renard moved, his control, the sheer—

Renard kissed him and Nick dropped the clothes in his arms in favor of pulling Renard closer, his fingers tangling in coarse, thick hair. He nicked his tongue on Renard’s tooth, so sharp he barely felt the sting, but Renard growled and Nick could feel it in his chest, travelling through his body. The light dimmed and he realized, distantly, that Renard had covered them with his wings.

Renard pulled away to look down at him with his too-green eyes, hand sliding around Nick’s neck so his fingers rested against Nick’s jugular. He tilted Nick’s head so his throat was bared. He leaned down and inhaled.

“You are mine,” Renard said, with fierce conviction. Before Nick could respond, his eyes rolled back and Renard collapsed onto Nick, bullet wounds and a hundred cuts bleeding red onto Nick’s shirt.


	7. Chapter 7

Nick automatically laid Renard on his back, checked his breathing and airways, and applied pressure the worst of his wounds. They needed to get out of here, but Nick wasn’t sure Renard would wake up, much less be able walk, and Nick certainly couldn’t carry him. Their coworkers were far too close for comfort. He could maybe spin this as the killer lurking around, taking them by surprise, but that wouldn’t explain the mutilated body. And he couldn’t just leave Renard here.

And then Adalind Schade appeared out of nowhere. She took in the scene with clinical detachment.

“Right. We should go.” She moved towards Renard and Nick covered him protectively, hand going automatically to his sidearm.

“How’d you know we were here?”

“I guess your books missed a few things about hexenbiest. We don’t call each other ‘sisters’ just for funsies. Now will you let me help you, or are you going to carry my King out by yourself? Given the wounds in his chest, I do not suggest a fireman’s carry.” Nick glanced around to buy himself time; he didn’t want anyone near Renard while he was so vulnerable, but he had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t be avoidable.

There were two hexenbiest putting the other Grimm’s body in a bag, a couple of animals pacing in the shadows Nick would bet were fully transformed blutbaden, and the prickling sensation of people watching him.

“Fine. Let’s go.” They each drew one of Renard’s arms over their shoulders and hoisted him up. He was taller than both of them so his feet dragged the ground, but there was nothing for that.

Their group made good time through the woods even though Nick was exhausted, and everything hurt by the time they made it to the road, but he wasn’t going to get shown up by a hexenbiest. He had a feeling from the amused looks Adalind kept shooting him that she knew. There was a limo and three black SUVs—all with armor plating, bullet resistant glass and flat-run tires—waiting for them. They propped Renard up on one of the long benches in the limo and climbed in after him; some time during the walk, Renard’s human façade had started to come back and he’d lost his wings.

Adalind was on her phone as soon as her door closed. Nick sank into the soft leather seats gratefully—so, so comfortable—and had to scramble to catch Renard when Adalind tipped him over so he fell in Nick’s lap. She smirked at them and went right back to her blackberry. Nick grumbled but did what he could to make sure Renard was comfortable, stretched out along the seat with his head in Nick’s lap. He didn’t even notice when his eyes slid shut.

“Hank’s going to call you soon; you’ve been missed.” Nick forced his eyes open, but it was wasted effort as Adalind still wasn’t looking at him. “Tell him you took Renard home, we’ll make sure your cover story holds up. Someone’s already retrieved the car.”

Like she’d planned it, Nick’s phone rang. He had to fish it out of his back pocket. Renard moaned in discontent when his head was jostled and Nick quickly ran a soothing hand through his hair. Hank’s name flashed accusingly on his screen.

“Hank. What’s up?”

“Where are you?”

“Yeah, sorry, I caught a ride back with the Captain.” Nick tried to put the proper The-Captain-can-hear-me-read-between-the-lines inflection in his voice.

“We were trying to find him too. Got a mess of rookies who are afraid to do anything without someone signing off on it because of him, good job on getting him out of there. He ok?”

“Yeah, it’s just one of those days, you know?”

“Shit, man, you don’t need to tell me. We all have those kind of cases. And this one... Just make sure he gets home safe.”

“Will do. Call you later?”

“Tomorrow. I got a date tonight with a lady who wears—”

“Good bye, Hank.” Nick slipped his phone in pocket. He realized after a moment he was still touching Renard and stopped. Adalind chuckled, but how she’d seen anything with her eyes so affixed to her phone he couldn’t say.

The trip back to the city took about thirty minutes, long enough for Nick to realize their entourage wasn’t exactly subtle.

“So how do you get Renard to his apartment without attracting attention in this caravan?” 

“We’re not going to his apartment. We’re going to his mansion.”

***

“Holy shit.” Nick boggled at the mansion gradually coming into view, an impressively large building made of light colored stone and a deep red roof, surrounded by well manicured gardens and a front drive nearly a mile long.

“You should see the view out back,” Adalind said. “You can see Mount Hood and all of Portland.”

“How...” Nick didn’t even know how to finish that statement.

“We rent it out for weddings.”

Several wesen were waiting for them on the steps with a stretcher; Nick noticed they were all wearing blue shirts and a small gold pin with a stylized lion’s head on their lapels.

He followed close on their heels as they made their way through the mansion. It was almost dizzying how many doors and hallways they passed through until they emerged in a large, well-appointed bedroom with a massive king sized four-poster bed and an entire wall of windows from which Nick could see the whole of Portland spread out in the valley. It was absolutely mesmerizing.

Nick tore himself away from the distracting view just in time to see one of the wesen about to cut into Renard’s chest with a scalpel. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist hard enough to make her drop the knife and all activity in the room stopped.

“What are you doing?” he asked. Her visage shifted momentarily into its hare-like countenance but she stood her ground.

“We have to get the bullets out. He’s healed around them already so we have to reopen the wounds.” Nick glanced at the small round holes, studied the hare, and then nodded. He stepped away but kept a close eye on the creature, who had to work by herself when her assistant wouldn’t come any closer, instead shooting terrified looks at Nick. Renard remained unconscious through it all.

They sewed and bandaged what they could, until there was nothing left to do and Nick was left alone with Renard and Adalind, who finally set aside her blackberry and fixed Nick with a searching look.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“What?” Nick sprawled out on a chair by Renard’s bed, angled to face Adalind who’d camped out in a chair at the foot.

“You know...well, not everything, but enough. Who he is, what we are, how we operate.”

“You operate like you’re above the law,” Nick snapped, his anger rising again but it felt old. The edge to it was gone, worn away like a habit he didn’t know how to break.

“Your laws aren’t meant to handle us,” Adalind said, her true face slipping through the only indication that she wasn’t wholly calm.

“He had—”

“I swear if you say anything about Marie Kessler I will claw your eyes out. That song and dance only lasts long enough for someone to point out _she killed people too._ And not every one of them was a marauding blutbad.” Nick shut his mouth and glared. “Let’s not get into a conversation about sliding scales of morality.”

Nick sat back and glared at her, trying to project his Grimmness at her (he still wasn’t sure what that meant, but Monroe swore up and down it existed, and other wesen reactions seemed to confirm), but she remained dedicated to ignoring him. Which left Nick with his thoughts, watching the rise and fall of Renard’s chest.

There was too much to sort through. He was trying to understand an entire culture, and entire _world_ he’d been unaware of. He’s been a Grimm for over a year but he was still largely dependent on Monroe and his books for information. And neither of them had hinted at the kind of network Renard had in place.

And that was another thing: Renard himself. Perhaps—and this took some effort to admit—the most important thing. Because Nick _knew_ Renard. They’d worked together for years; Renard had been the one to look at Nick, a rookie cop who’d chosen the force over a college education, and put him on the detective track. But Nick hadn’t been a special case; there’d been others over the years. Gomez, who’d never been diagnosed with dyslexia and kept failing the exam until Renard stepped in; Isaacs, who’d gone dirty, and instead of covering it up Renard dragged him into the light and then took the backlash himself; cases where he sent them home and was still there when they came back the next morning.

He couldn’t find the space where that man and the one who ordered an assassination were the same.

He scrubbed at his face, suddenly acutely aware that he was covered in forest. There was dirt and blood under his fingernails.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked his hands.

“The joys of being an adult: figure it out for yourself.” The predictably terse reply made him laugh, a short puff of air that still sounded loud in the room.

“I just...don’t understand why.” He felt like he’d been asking that a lot these days. Why and what and specifically _why me._ Adalind looked up from her work, serious and lacking the edge of sardonic humor that usually characterized their interactions.

“We are vicious. We are cruel. We are violent and possessive and flighty and territorial. We are guided by instincts stronger than anything humans can claim to feel—and no, Nick, I do not include you in that designation—and we need something, some _one_ strong enough to keep us in line, from destroying each other and ourselves in the process. Renard is strong enough. And he’s strong enough to do it _right_ without turning into a despot. You have no idea how rare that is.” There was an edge of bitterness to her words that Nick wanted to ask her about, but now was not the time. Maybe...maybe in the future.

“And where do I fit in?”

“I haven’t decided yet. But for him?” She glanced at her King, an odd little smile on her face. “You are sovereign. You are _equal,_ declared to all against my very good advice.”

“I still don’t get why he did that,” Nick sighed. Adalind barely refrained from rolling her eyes; so pretty yet so dense. And Renard was too cautious for his own good, so she threw them a bone. She was not about to spend months of her life watching them dance around each other.

“Officially because it was the only way he could ensure your trust and cooperation. In reality, because he’s a romantic at heart.” Nick gaped at her; not so pretty like that, she noted. As if he heard her, Nick’s mouth snapped shut and he turned to stare out the window. Adalind waited him out because she’d been playing these games with Renard for a very long time. Nick would have to step it up if he wanted to compete.

“He kissed me.” He finally said, turning back to her, challenge writ in the lines of his face. “After the fight.”

“And did you kiss back?” His blush was all the answer she needed. “I’ll leave you to think it over.” She signed a quick adieu to Renard, her hand shielded from Nick, just to let him know she could still tell when he was feigning sleep, and let herself out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renard’s mansion is, nominally, [Pittock mansion.](http://pittockmansion.org/)


	8. Chapter 8

Renard drifted, sliding in and out of consciousness with growing ease. Nick was an almost constant presence, Adalind a close second. They’d settled into a wary truce after that first conversation, the terms of which appeared to be not talking to one another. In Nick’s case, silence was the better part of valor; Adalind was a successful lawyer for reasons that had nothing to do with Renard’s patronage.

It was late the following day before Renard felt well enough to let people know he was awake. Nick supervised Nurse Lapin’s spoon-feeding technique closely—she was a very competent nurse of long employ who radiated calm in all situations, even though she was a hare—but otherwise didn’t say a word. Adalind updated him on the state of his kingdom and the fallout of Lara Dietrich’s reign of terror; he’d need to make an appearance soon but Adalind had arranged for Dietrich’s body to be viewed by whoever wanted, and that apparently put a lot of his people at ease. Nick sat in his chair by Renard’s bed listening to it all, for the three days Renard spent confined to bed rest, silent and watchful.

And then he disappeared.

Not literally—Renard caught glimpses of him at the mansion, and then at work (where Renard stayed glued to his chair as much as possible), where Nick acted like nothing had changed, though he let Hank do all their talking. And weirdly, as he pulled away from Renard, Adalind and others reported that Nick was taking a far more active role in the wesen community. He’d asked Frank Rabe to introduce him to the Small Council, was holding ‘office hours’ in a wesen-friendly cafe where curious creatures were encouraged to meet him in a public place, and had a standing appointment with Renard’s steward to discuss...any number of Courtly things, really.

But all of this pointedly as far away from Renard’s influence as he could get.

Renard wasn’t the kind of person to let things lie, but he granted that Nick was an exception to just about everything and deserved his space. (It absolutely in no way was because Renard had no idea how to handle the situation.) 

Renard still got detailed updates from Adalind.

***

Renard had never been more thankful for elevators. Two weeks out and the bullet wounds were healing nicely, but he was constantly tired and they still pulled if he moved too fast, for all that the scars looked at least a year old; he gave it another two weeks on the outside before he could pass them off as old military injuries; another month before they wouldn’t show at all. But healing took a lot out of him, as did the amount of time it took to reaffirm his position as King. He was looking forward to a quiet night in the sanctuary of his home.

He pushed open his door to find Nick standing in his living room. Renard waited for the familiar feelings of territorial anger that inevitably happened when others were in his space—murderous when uninvited, but still irritating even with permission, there was a reason he kept a residence separate from his Court mansion. Not even Adalind came here. They were alarmingly absent.

“Nick.” The man in question nudged a plain white vase worth more that his life out of place. Renard itched to put it back where it belonged.

“You don’t have any pictures.” Nick turned to him, blank-faced and unreadable. But non-aggressive, which was a plus. “It’s suspicious.” Renard considered his Grimm and chose his words carefully.

“There’s never been anyone to be suspicious.” Nick’s eyes widened briefly before quickly settling back into his poker face. “We guard our Territories jealously, Nick. But our private holdings are sacrosanct.” And he hadn’t kicked Nick out of his yet.

Renard moved to the bar and poured himself a scotch. Not his usual drink of choice but it seemed fitting for the situation. He turned back to the room, leaning back against the bar, and found Nick had moved to the large windows that dominated his exterior wall. He ignored the spectacular view to study Renard.

“I’ve been thinking.” Renard refrained from say anything but he couldn’t help the automatic quirk of his lips at that. Nick noticed but Renard couldn’t tell if he was irritated or amused. “You lied to me.” Renard straightened and Nick shifted, every line of his body exuding a challenge. He relaxed minutely when Renard remained silent, committed to letting Nick speak his piece. 

“You’ve abetted criminal activities; you even profited from the lowen games. You’ve ordered people killed, directly and through permissiveness. You’ve handled me— _manipulated_ me. Been vicious and uncompromising.” Nick stepped towards him and Renard recognized a fellow predator. He didn’t quite feel like prey until Nick moved into his space, the air heavy with his presence, too close for plausible deniability. “And you’ve protected your people. Put your life on the line for them. For me. You are a contradiction.” Renard gave into the temptation to take in Nick’s scent, his nostrils flaring and his tongue darting out. He was gratified to see Nick’s eyes flick down, confirming what his senses were telling him, almost overwhelming with Nick this close: Nick wasn’t here to fight.

“And how do you reconcile me, Nick?” Renard asked, voice rough.

“I trust what I know.”

“And what is it you know?” The knowing little smile that curled over Nick’s lips caused a low rumble to start in Renard’s chest.

“You’re walking the line between two worlds that don’t easily coexist.” Renard’s heart started beating faster, everything sliding into a sharper, crystal clarity that had saved his life more than once—recently, against a certain rogue Grimm. “That there are things I don’t know, and don’t understand. That I might never understand, but I’m working on it. That in the end, it doesn’t matter, because I know you. And I want—”

Renard grabbed Nick by the front of his shirt and hauled him forward, kissing him for the second time. It felt the same as before, hyped on a battle high for all that they weren’t physically fighting one another. Nick was unyielding, demanding, meeting Renard with equal ferocity.

They left a trail of destruction along their wake, clothes and various mementos littering Renard’s perfectly ordered home. 

He couldn’t fight back his creature once he had Nick in his bedroom—his den, the place where he kept his most treasured possessions. And now Nick was here where Renard could keep him safe, even while he was at his most vulnerable.

Renard spotted a bruise on Nick’s hip and growled, put his mouth over it and raked it with his teeth. Made it his. Nick yelped, his hands gripping Renard’s hair, and then the sound smoothed out into a low moan. He let Nick guide him up, till their lips met.

Nick smiled against him, a wicked curve against Renard’s skin, then bared his throat, arching back as if he needed to sweeten the deal. As if Renard would ever turn down such a blatant invitation to claim.

When Nick flipped them to stake his own claim, Renard lost track of time for a while.

**Coda.**

Renard traced over bruises and one deeper set of cuts on Nick’s shoulder blade, the result of a hint of claws, a testament to how close to the edge of control Nick pushed him. This wasn’t going to be simple or easy. Might not even last. But he had this now, and he’d do what he could to keep it. And enjoy it.

Satisfied Nick was soundly asleep, Renard stepped out of the bedroom and picked up his cell phone.

His call was answered on the third ring.

“Tu as essayé de prendre mon Grimm, donc j'ai pris le tien. Je viens pour toi.”

**Author's Note:**

> For a [Fight to the Death](http://grimm-kink.dreamwidth.org/1735.html?thread=262599) Kink Meme prompt.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
